


As If

by surveycorpsjean



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 04:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11798031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean/pseuds/surveycorpsjean
Summary: The five times Lance was his impulse control, and the one time he wasn't.





	As If

**Author's Note:**

> the new season destroyed me

The bayard feels heavy in his hand. It might weigh more than the red one. There's an unspoken metaphor here, but Keith couldn't care less about it. 

He wields the sword anyways. It cuts through a torso an arm – he swings it right into the face of a drone, the follow through tearing bits and wires with it. That part always makes Keith cringe – they move so human-like. His sword could crush bone like it’s paper.

The static of Allura’s voice buzzes through his headset.

_“-eith! Keith!”_

“I’m here,” he answers, as he kicks out the kneecaps of a drone.

_“We’re held up at the starboard side! We can’t follow you-“_

“I can’t turn back now,” Keith grits, “I’m on Acxa’s tail. We can't let her get away-“

 _“Keith, we really need you buddy!”_ Hunk shouts over the sound of his turret. “ _Ah – Pidge!”_

_“Go – go-!”_

Keith hears yelling through the coms, but he’s rushing the halls, his heartbeat too loud to hear what they’re saying. Acxa darts around the corner, shutting the security doors behind her. Keith smashes through it with his bayard, bits of scrap metal scraping at his armor.

 _“Ah shit-“_ Lance grinds, “- _Keith! We need to stick together! Where are you?!”_

“Shut up! She knows where Lotor is!” Keith hisses, boots slipping against the slick floor, sweat rolling down the back of his neck. There's shouting in his helment, and he's tempted to toss the damn thing; but there’s two new sentries in his way, and the mask kinda’ saves his life.

Acxa looks back once, before slipping down another hallway. He feels his stomach drop because they’re  _so close –_ she’s on the run, injured – and this is their first chance of getting any useful Galra intel in months. Lotor has been silent for way too long, and Keith can’t sleep at night. People are dying.

 The yelling in his headset is getting unbearable.

_“Keith, don’t do it! We need - Ah – Allura go – go-“_

Keith cuts through another drone, and books it through the hall.

A voice cuts above the rest, panicked and pitched with desperation, enough to stop Keith cold in his tracks. A hard chill runs down his spine, and his boots skid along metal.

 _“Keith stop!_ ”

There’s an explosion that rocks the whole ship.

Lance yells above gunfire.

_“We’ll get her another day! Don’t you leave us to die, I swear to god-“_

Guilt traps his feet to the floor. His friends -  they’re out there fighting, all by themselves. Waiting to hear from Keith.

Great leadership skills. 

He manages a softer, “I’m on my way,” before turning on his heel, and running back from where he came.

Keith counts three left turns and a right, before Coran is helping him back to the deck – and there they are, holding off a damn army. It’s a warzone out here. Troops on the ground, ships in the air. It's taking the whole team just to keep the main ship Keith was infiltrating in one piece. 

Hunk is already back in his lion, holding off the new launch of fighter drones. Keith prepares to duck from the crossfire, but the red lion perches at the hull, bearing the blow.

Lance’s face pops up on his feed, grinning from the lion.

_“Glad to see ya’, hothead.”_

_“Alright!”_ Allura cheers,  _“Let’s regroup before making any more decisions. I don’t think Blue can take any more blasts.”_

“Sounds like a plan,” Keith says, running towards the black lion. Her shields are holding, but not by much. Lance watches his back. Keith trusts him to. 

 _“Keith!”_ Pidge calls.  _“I made it to the support tower – I found out where Acxa is headed! There’s a quintessence shipping port a few hundred clicks from here.”_

“Oh,” Keith blinks, and avoids tripping over a busted drone.

Lance chirps _, “See? Would it kill ya’ to trust us a little more?”_

Keith tries not to let the guilt distract him. The black lion hums beneath his fingers, but he shushes her, in determination to get home safe.

 

2

 

He can’t stop thinking about that mission.

They’ve been busy since the C-27 quadrant raid. Voltron even freed another planet, and they’re on board to join the fight.

Still. Keith thinks about that starboard side. The blue lion in battered shreds, Pidge scrambling to stay out of the crossfire, Lance’s pitched, frantic shouting in his ear.

It’s deja-vu, back to the gas planet. Broken coms, broken teamwork. Keith promised not to make that same mistake again, yet here he is.

He just can’t helpit. When he sees an opportunity, he has to take it. It burns him not to; his palms sweat and his hands shake, body moving before he can think it through.

Keith isn’t Shiro. He’s barely eighteen.

He wakes up to the sound of Lance’s voice again. But it’s not real – just a dream. That same panicked tone ringing through his ears, giving him cold chills.

_“Keith stop!”_

There’s a knock at his door. Keith jolts, sitting up in bed. He throws his legs over the side, pushing the covers back. His room feels hot, but the thermostat reads the same chill 71 degrees.

Keith clears his throat, and answers, “Yeah?”

The door slides open. Lance is there, scratching at the back of his neck, staring wearily into Keith’s room like it’s a bear’s den. His hair is slightly damp and ruffled, like it’s been towel dried. He looks soft. It makes something hurt in Keith’s chest, so he looks away.

“Hey.”

Keith nods.

The door slides shut.

“Were you asleep?”

“No,” Keith lies. “What’s up?”

“Just checking on you, man,” Lance shrugs, and leans back up against the door. “You skipped dinner.”

Keith runs a hand through his hair, and resists the urge to get defensive. “Yeah. Wasn’t hungry.”

“Hm,” Lance stares. “You sick?”

“No.”

“Dying?”

“No.”

“Are you Keith?” Lance lifts an eyebrow. “Or are you an alien that  _looks_ like Keith.”

Keith stares, exasperated, “Lance.”

Lance lifts his hands, “Alright, okay. Just making sure.” He offers a partial smile, “We need our leader in tip-top shape, you know.”

The word  _leader_ brings another dark, heavy pit to Keith’s stomach, and it takes effort not to flinch. Keith looks back to his hands, and away from Lance’s stare. He feels like a fake. Lance says it with so much trust – and Keith is a  _fake-_

“Right. Well, thanks.”

“Okay, that look right there,” Lance points. “Something is definitely wrong.”

 “Lance, I’m tired. Can we not do this today?” 

“Dude, you can piss on me, just don’t tell me it’s raining.”

An unexpected laugh bubbles out of Keith, “What?”

“Chop chop,” Lance crosses his arms. “I won’t leave until we have a real heart-to heart. I want genuine man tears. Some real telenovela shit.”  

There’s something about the sincere look on Lance’s face. It spills out of him, beyond Keith’s filter.

“I’m stepping down as leader,” Keith says.

Lance’s eyes blow round, like little blue bubbles. His mouth opens and shuts, before he decides on an eloquent, “Huh?”

“I can’t do this,” Keith pushes back his bangs, but they flop right back into place. “I’m not fit to lead Voltron, and you know it.”

The bed dips next to him. Lance’s feet kick out by his own.

“Didn’t we already have this conversation? The black lion chose you.”

Keith feels tired, suddenly. Bone tired, shoulders heavy, all his fading bruises sore. He wants to lean against Lance, but he doesn't.

“I can fly the lion fine,” Keith looks away. “But I’m not meant to lead.”

“Sorry man, but that kinda’ comes with the gig,” Lance says, like it’s oh-so easy.

“You play leader then,” Keith snaps. “You said you wanted it, didn’t you?”

A strange look crosses Lance's face. Something like hurt – but it’s hidden behind a wink and a smile, “But I wasn’t chosen, was I?”

Keith bristles, “I led us right into the hands of the Galra. Multiple times.”

“And we got out of it, didn’t we?”

“Barely.”

Lance elbows him softly. “Look, work with me here. I’m trying to do this whole  _friend_ thing.”  

Keith feels his face warm.

“Well. I’m stepping down. I can’t lead like Shiro did.”

“Then don’t, dude. Nobody is asking you to be Shiro.”

“I’m going to get us  _killed,_ Lance,” Keith grits, losing his patience.

Lance looks back at him, eyes uncharacteristically serious.

“And I’ll be there to save the day, right?”  Lance softens, “Look. We’re all shooting in the dark here. I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing half the time - but please, at least think twice about quitting. We really, really need you.”

God. What is Keith to do? He can deal with bratty Lance, flirty Lance, angry Lance – but sincere Lance makes his heart hurt, and Keith can’t look him in the eye too long without feeling stripped bare. 

“Alright,” Keith says eventually. “I’ll think about it.”

Lance smiles, crooked and toothy.

“Cool. I don’t think I’d have as much fun being the right hand for anyone else.”

Keith isn’t sure what to say. He watches Lance stand up off the bed, and stretch his arms high above his head.

“I didn’t tell you this, but Hunk might’ve hid some leftovers in the third cabinet under the sludge machine.”

Keith smiles, “Good to know.”

Lance gives him a half smile, before the door slides open, and Lance disappears behind it.

 

Keith doesn’t quit. Even when they find Shiro.

 

3

 

 Keith had a television, once. It was old, with big antennas and a two foot box in the back. You had to bang it three times to turn on, and it never really worked right, the screen a strange off-color green. Keith didn't have much interest in it, but as a kid, he did catch a movie or two, when he stayed up late enough for the B-rated films to play on his limited cable.

Life doesn’t slow down, like in the old action movies. Instead it’s too fast to comprehend – the swing of a blade, three shots of a gun.

Shiro’s voice is deep and grounding in his headset. He watches the team remotely from the castle, as Coran keeps the fighter drones at bay.

_“You’ve got backup on your left.”_

Pidge is typing furiously into a Galra control panel; Hunk is too busy rewiring it or something, whatever – Keith is trying to keep their heads intact. He can hear the gunfire of the castle and the blue lion outside. There’s half-a dozen Galra drones running their way.

“Jeez, these guys just don’t know when to quit, do they?” Lance hits two sentries with one shot, and Keith is too preoccupied to be impressed by it.

_“I’m reading a different heat signature – but it’s – it’s running away? Keith, your call.”_

Keith turns back, “Pidge?”

“I’m almost done here,” Pidge types. “Two more minutes.”

“I’m all good, I can watch her back,” Hunk stands, grabbing his turret.

Lance gives him a look. Keith nods.

“Alright, we’re on it. We’ll meet back in the lions. Allura, keep support on the castle.”

She answers from the blue lion, a peppy,   _“On it, captain.”_

Half the lights are flickering aboard. The floor rattles with each outside blast, and Lance nearly trips after a heavy kickback.

“Jesus,” Lance pants. “Are these ships made of paper? I expected more from a ten-thousand-year-old empire.”

Keith ignores him, “Shiro, which way?”

_“Left.”_

_"_ I'm sure someone took a pay-cut for this paint job -oh, hey, do the Galra get paid? Or is it more of a  _serve and you maybe live_  kinda' thing?"

"Lance  _shut up_ -" Keith huffs. 

They come to an open shipping port. Half the ships are gone, the other half damaged from the battle recoil. They’re upturned, a few on fire. 

"Well this is cozy," Lance says.

A Galra general stands, tapping furiously into the control panel of an in-tact ship.

“Hey!” Keith calls, feet moving faster. “Don’t move!”

The General turns, all sharp teeth and rigid posture.

“Paladins.”

“I said  _don’t move,”_ Keith raises his sword. “Tell us where Lotor is.”

The General ignores him, “You’ve been quite the pain. This was  _my_ base, you know. It’ll be my head on Haggar’s chopping block.” He lifts a weapon – a longsword, way too heavy to be wielded by someone of his size. He turns – and shockingly, he’s a half breed. Purple, with a lizard tail, and a sharp tongue.

Keith can hear the cock of Lance’s gun.

“You were torturing people. You- you had them in cages like animals.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with a little science, is there?” The General grins, before he’s moving faster than Keith can follow. He lifts his sword out of reflex, before the longsword grinds against his bayard, sparks searing the paladin suit.

Lance fires a shot into his shoulder, but the General doesn’t flinch. Lance fires another – and Keith kicks him off.

“Duck!” Lance calls, and Keith does, a blast kissing the top of his helmet, and nailing the General square in his chest. Keith is moving, swinging for his side – but the tail sweeps out his feet, and sharp nails pin him to the ground. Fuck, he’s strong.

“Squirmy little bastard, aren’t you?” The General laughs. Lance is running closer, shouting as Keith tries to roll in his grip.

Shiro yells in his ear,  _“Lance, Keith! That’s-“_

Keith's helmet is kicked off his head, and Keith gasps when a boot digs into his shoulder. Lance shoots again, spot on, nailing the Galra in the neck.

“Allura! We might need backup-“

_“You -!”_

The General is behind Lance, yanking the gun out of his hand with his tail, and heaving Lance up by his throat. Keith jolts – but he’s still pinned down. A clone? A twin? Keith can’t tell, but there’s fucking two of them. The weight is still very real on his back, and he has the perfect view as Lance chokes, toes scraping the floor.

“You’re good with a gun,” The General squeezes, and Lance thrashes, hands digging into his forearms. He sputters and chokes. Keith’s stomach lurches. “A fine specimen you would be.”

“Lance!” Keith jolts, “Let him  _go!-_ “

A boot steps on the back of his head, and Keith sees stars. Lance is dropped to the floor – thank god- but the general steps on his leg, and a resounding  _snap_ echoes around the hangar. Keith’s heart chokes into his throat so hard his eyes water, as Lance thrashes back on the floor and screams.

It echoes off the walls. Bounces off the floor, the ceiling.

He can’t hear Shiro, or Allura, or Pidge or Hunk or Coran-

But Keith has no recollection of the next minute. All he knows, is one second he’s pinned to the ground, and the next he’s kicking the  _fuck_ out of that general, stabbing him right through the armor with his bayard – and then dropping it, so he can punch him in the face over and over and over-

The General sputters back, and falls. He doesn’t know where the clone went- but Keith presses a knee to his chest, and punches him again. His ribs feel too tight. His knuckles bleed when he snaps the General’s nose in a clean break. He’s not even fighting, tail twitching on the ground.

“Keith!” Lance calls. His voice is watery and strained, and hollow to Keith’s ears. His leg is bent at a bad angle. There’s hand prints around his throat. Tear tracks down his cheeks.

Keith doesn’t even hesitate to grab for his bayard, drawing the sword, and holding it to the general’s neck.

 _“Fuck!_ ” Lance scoots, “Keith! Don’t do it- fuck – Keith  _don’t-_ “

“He hurt you,” Keith shakes. He’ll kill him. He’ll do it, right now. He’ll slice through his throat, and watch him choke on his own blood.

“We’re not bounty hunters,” Lance struggles. “We’re- we’re paladins Keith. Don’t – don’t do it.”

He wants to. He wants to kill him  _so_ bad. Every time he looks back to Lance he wants it. It’s scary. Keith is scared. He can’t even imagine how Lance feels.

He rubs the blade along the General’s throat. He’s knocked out cold. Lance makes another noise, another plead- and Keith’s bayard clatters to the floor, before it evaporates.  

Allura appears in the doorway, Pidge and Hunk not far behind. Keith doesn’t say anything. He’s at Lance’s side, helping him up, heart dropping each time he shouts in pain.

Keith holds his breath the whole way home. Not until that fucker is tied up in the bridge, and Lance is healing peacefully in a cryopod. Only when he sees Lance exhale, little bubbles escaping his lips, then he lets out that breath, and sags his shoulders.

A hand rests along his upper back.

“Keith,” Shiro stares. “We need to talk.”

He already knows what Shiro is going to say. He’ll ask if Keith is too emotionally compromised to continue as leader. If he needs to talk. But Keith doesn’t  _want_ to talk. He wants to stay here, and wait until Lance wakes up, thanks.

It wasn’t until that snap. That moment that Lance’s head threw back against the floor, back arching – only  _then_ did Keith realize how easy he could’ve lost him. Keith would never recover from that. He would never, ever recover from that.

_You don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone._

Fuck if that isn’t true. Keith has never taken a life, but god, he was so close.

Shiro is waiting for a response. Keith doesn’t give him one.

 

4

 

They’re a little shaken after that last mission, so Allura busies them with diplomatic matters. Keith is both annoyed, and grateful. He’s not sure he’s ready to lead them back into battle – but Keith still itches to get out there, and make a difference.

A  _real_ difference. None of this frilly, posh bullshit.

The castle has been scrubbed clean for this evening. They freed a race called the  _Mossians_ last week, which are just glorified, pink Vulcans from Star Trek. Shut up, Keith knows what that is.

They’re – for the lack of a better word – attractive. They pride themselves on physical appearances, and their apparent higher intellects. Keith thinks they’re a bunch of self-centered barbie-lookin' pricks, but Allura said very explicitly not to tell them that, because  _‘they have technology and man-power that could prove great aid in this war!’._ Whatever. If they were so great they wouldn’t have been enslaved in the first place.

They’re throwing a party for the Mossians in the big ballroom that Pidge has been using for extra storage. She wasn’t too happy about moving all her computer stuff. She’s in the corner, pouting. Keith can relate.

Hunk appears to be having the time of his life. The Mossians are utterly captivated by his cooking, hovering around him like flies, begging for the  _‘list of elements’._ They’ve never heard of butter, and don’t understand why it’s not on their periodic table.

This morning Allura gave them the option of wearing their paladin armor, or dressing up formally. Keith and Pidge chose the armor option, duh, but Allura and Coran are in their Altean garb, and Hunk is wearing the traditional Mossian tunic that they gave him as a gift. It’s just an ugly towel pinned to his shoulder by a safety pin, but whatever. Keith isn’t a fashion expert.

Keith would be content to stand in the corner and say absolutely nothing all evening – but as the universe would have it, he’s not allowed to have nice things.

Lance didn’t take the Mossian uniform, or the paladin armor. Instead, he must’ve taken a long swim in Coran’s closet, because he’s wearing embroidered skinny-leg suit pants, and a tailored button-down shirt. He has the sleeves rolled to his forearms, and the first few buttons undone – and he looks – he looks uh, good.

Everyone fucking knows it too, because he has a decent crowd poking and prodding at him like he’s a mannequin on display.

Lance is  _eating it up,_ and it’s pissing Keith off.

He might still be touchy about the broken leg thing. Lance limped for a week after he walked out of the cryopod, and Keith keeps an eye on him out of paranoia. If he hovered too much that week, Lance didn’t say a thing.

There’s a deep pink male Mossian speaking inches from his face, features lit up in pure fascination.

“You can change color?”

“Uh, yeah,” Lance shrugs. “If I’m out in the sun too long, I get tanner.”

“Exposure to light changes skincell color,” A female Mossian feels his bicep, “Only direct skin exposure?”

Lance flushes, “Y-Yeah.”

“Oh! Another hue change. Xotia, are you taking mental note of this?”

“It’s quite fascinating, yes. Is your entire species so beautiful?”

Keith rolls his eyes.

“Ah, I guess,” Lance pushes up his sleeves as they slip. The movement is distracting, even to Keith. The constant physical demands of being a paladin is really doing something for his muscle mass –

“Does everyone have eyes as stunning as yours?”

“Do they speak like you? Are they so linguistically endowed?”  

“Uh –“

Keith can’t do this. He looks away.

He watches Allura and Shiro speak with the diplomatic leaders, discussing something way too seriously. Keith leans back against the ship column and pouts. Whatever music they’re playing is god awful. There are Mossians dancing, but it looks like they’re just rocking back and forth. Lame.

Keith looks back to Lance – but he’s not there anymore. Keith hunts around, and instead he finds him up against the far corner, hidden away from the commotion. Keith only spots him because of the stark brown hair against pink.

One of the aliens slips a hand up Lance’s cheek, and behind his neck. Another rolls their fingers down his side, lips saying something against his ear that Keith can’t catch. He’s pushed back against the wall.

Pink nails scrape up into Lance's hair, and Keith nearly bites through his tongue.

He expects Lance to flirt back – but he looks uncomfortable. Lance is laughing awkwardly, trying to politely wiggle away, but that male Mossian bossily grabs him by the hips, and manhandles him into place.

“Ah, stop-“ Lance tries, and Keith is moving before he can think twice, hands balled into fists.

“Hey,” he snaps, approaching the circle. “Hands off.”

The male turns to him with pencil-thin eyebrows raised.

“Excuse me?”

“I said let go,” Keith grits through his teeth. He doesn’t care if he’s making a scene. One of the females grip Lance around the wrist, and Keith grabs Lance by his beltloops, pulling him back. Lance lets out an  _oof,_ stumbling behind him.

“You’re being quite rude,” the alien frowns. “We were having a civil conversation.”

“And he told you to stop touching him.”

Lance gives a nervous laugh, “Ah, Keith, I can handle it-“

“There must be many anomalies within your race,” the Mossian frowns. “Lance was not this barbaric. He had no objection to our affections.”

Keith snorts, “That’s because he was being nice.” He turns to leave, digging his finger back into Lance’s beltloops so he can drag him away – and maybe chew him out – but the Mossians scoff behind him.

“How dare he!”  

“Let them go,” the male Mossian says, without emotion. “He’s not beautiful enough to merit the effort.”

Keith’s heels dig into the floor. He stops, and blinks. Then he turns on his heel, and raises his fist.

 _“Woah-_ woah woah woah- “ Lance grabs his arm, holding him back. His fingers dig into Keith’s bicep, and it’s the only thing that keeps him from swinging. 

The Mossians stare. Keith jerks in Lance’s arms.

“ _You-“_

 “Haha – ahh, funny joke! Ha – ha, that Earth humor, huh?” Lance grins, pulling back on Keith. He struggles to hold Keith still, so his lips jostle against Keith’s ear as he hisses,  _“Stop.”_

Something in Keith runs cold.

He jerks out of Lance’s grip. Keith scowls heatedly at the Mossians, before turning back around, and stomping away.

Lance barely keeps up with him. He waves to Allura on their way out of the ballroom.

As soon as the doors slide shut, Keith shouts, spinning to throw out his hands in exclamation.

“What an  _ass!”_

“I know,” Lance crosses his arms and frowns. “ _Not that beautiful?_ How mean.”

Keith wants to go back in and fight. Punch him in the mouth and say,  _are you stupid?_ Instead, Keith turns and points, “You need to learn to say no.”

“Hey,” Lance shoves his finger at his chest, “Don’t spin this on me. I  _did_ say no.”

“Not like you meant it,” Keith stalks away, towards the big staircase, and sits with a huff. “They were feeling you up like a toy.”

Lance is slow to cross the reflective floor, and sit next to him. He undoes a couple more buttons, and runs a hand to ruffle his hair. He looks tired, but kinda’ gorgeous.

“Yeah, I guess. It was fun at first but... they were so touchy.”

Keith looks over to him. He’s sad, and it makes Keith sad, and he hates that.

“It’s your fault,” Keith blurts, because he is apparently incapable of expressing genuine human emotions.

Lance scoffs, “Mine?”

“You could’ve worn your armor. But no, instead you had to wear,” Keith gestures, “ _that.”_

Lance stares. His eyebrows push together, his lips press to a hard line, and he  _stares._ Keith stares back.

But Lance’s face softens. His eyes change, and flicker with something strange, before the corner of his mouth tips with a smile, and he leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out on the bottom step.

“Coran has nice clothes." 

Keith sighs, and presses his forehead to his knees.

“Sorry. They shouldn’t have done that, no matter what you’re wearing.”

He can hear the smile in Lance’s voice.

“It’s fine. Thanks for defending my honor.”

Keith gives a snort, and Lance claps him on the shoulder and laughs.

 

5

 

There’s too much on his mind.

The team is back to regular missions. Shiro continues to co-pilot from the castle. Keith tries to lead as level-headedly as he can in the field.

They’re busy, but that’s fine. Keith prefers it that way. It’s not Voltron that’s bothering him. Not Lotor, not the Galra.

Lance is bent across a merchants table, picking up weird alien knick-knacks, and asking what each one does. They’re weathered machinery, bits of synthetic skin and metal clicking like clockwork. It’s a fucking gross, but Lance doesn’t seem phased. The lady behind the booth looks, talks, and breathes like a witch, so Keith wouldn’t be surprised if the trinkets are cursed.

Keith has had enough of her widowed,  _poor ol’ me_ act she’s putting on to get a sale, so Keith grips Lance by the sleeve and pulls. “Let’s go.” Lance follows, but not after waving goodbye enthusiastically.

Lance jogs to match his step, “This place is awesome!”

 “Do you know where Hunk and Pidge went?” Keith shifts on his toes to see above the crowd. “They’re the ones we should be worried about.”

“Who cares, dude- oh! Look! Alien dogs-“

“Who cares? We let  _Hunk_ and  _Pidge_ go rampant at an alien swap meet. They’ve probably bought double their weight in equipment by now.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Allura gave them like, the equivalent of five bucks in alien money.” Lance peeps into a cage, and coos at the two-headed dog. It’s snarling and hissing, but Lance doesn’t flinch.

Keith rolls his eyes, and folds his arms. He’s not sure how he got stuck with Lance anyways; they landed to hunt for parts, in hopes to give the castle a good clean up. The coordinates to this place are top secret. They only know about it now, thanks to the blade of Marmora. Apparently it’s hard to trade goods and services with a 10,000 year-old bloodthirsty empire controlling most of the known galaxy.

This place is unsettling, and Keith can’t tell you why. It’s probably the weird gravity – they’re on a half moon that curls above their heads, docking ships and flying cars zooming left and right.

He lets Lance pull him to another booth, only because Lance looks the happiest he’s seen him in a long time.

“Wow,” Lance breathes. “These are gorgeous.”

The bug-man behind the table bows, and gargles, “Thank ya’ kindly.”

It’s a booth of silk headscarves. Except, they glow, shifting and changing color like a lava lamp.

“How does it do that?” Lance pokes one.

“Tradin' secret,” the merchant buzzes.

Keith squints, “Is it radioactive?”

“Shut up,” Lance bumps his hip with a laugh. “How much are these?”

“Seventeen Yoryoi.”

“Uh, what?”

“We only have GACs,” Keith explains.

“Ah.” The merchant says with distaste, “We dun’ use the Galra money ‘ere.”

“Oh,” Lance blinks. “Well-“

“But I’ll cut you a deal, just ‘cause ye’d look so pretty in onea’ these,” the bug man grins, and Keith frowns. “Twenty GAC’s.”

“Oh man,” Lance twirls his finger around the fabric, and watches it shift color. “I only have ten.”

“Twentys' the best I can do, son.”

Lance’s face falls, “That’s fine.”

“Take my ten,” Keith reaches for his back pocket.

Lance turns, shocked, “Huh?”

“Buy the thing, or whatever.”

“But what if you want to buy something?!”

“I won’t,” Keith hands the money past Lance, to the merchant. His bug hands are slimy, and Keith resists a shiver.

Lance gives him a look like he just solved world hunger.

“Thank you!” Lance hugs him with one arm, as he fishes out the money with the other. “I owe you, like, big time.”

Keith turns all his attention towards not flushing like a fucking dork. “Literally stop kicking your shoes off in the common area, and we’ll be even.”

“Deal,” Lance says, and pays his half. The merchant gives a nod to any of the scarfs, and Lance plucks a lava-blue one off the rack.

He wraps it arounds his neck, pulling part of it over his head as he beams, “I know I drive Red now, but blue brings out my eyes~”

Ah. It kinda’ does. The color looks really nice against his skin, making him glow darker, and his eyes reflect-

Fuck, Keith what the  _hell_ is wrong with you.

Lance starts to walk again.  

“So, I’d ask if you wanted to go try some of those alien kababs we saw when we landed, but we kinda’ just blew our money, so, I’m thinking if we go back to the castle and ask  _really_ nicely-“

Keith doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he grabs Lance’s wrist, and yanks back anyways. Lance spins back around, and  _shit,_ he just looks so handsome.  The headscarf moves like water, billowing around his face at the slightest breeze – and he looks back at Keith with round, surprised eyes, and Keith’s tongue dries in his mouth.

People bustle and move by them, annoyed that they’re stopped in the walkway.

“Keith?”

He hasn’t let go of Lance’s wrist. He’s just – he’s  _staring._ Say something. Say anything. His heart beats in his ears and his stomach grinds and twists –

Lance doesn’t move, even when someone rudely brushes past him. He waits for Keith, stares and stares – and Keith opens his mouth to say something  _really_ dumb, but Lance offers a half smile.

“Let’s go back.”

Yeah. Yeah. Better safe than sorry.

“Okay,” Keith says, and lets go. Lance waits until they’re walking side by side, and doesn’t bring up whatever the hell just happened. Keith swallows the would-be words deep down, and lets them fester in his stomach.

 

_You’re really pretty._

+1 

 

There’s not much time for anything else these days.

One step forward feels like two steps back. Lotor puppets them like children, and Keith is running on thin ice with this guy.

They were picked apart by his generals last week, kicked down and beat to shit, and Keith is just  _tired._ He’s really tired.

Keith kicks at a target anyways. He dodges the punch of a drone, and sweeps out the knees. It goes down with a hard crunch.

“Computer, up the level to six,” Keith re-wraps his hands.

“You should take a break.”

Keith turns around, and sees Hunk holding a plate of food.

“Cancel that, computer,” Keith calls.

Hunk laughs, “Hungry? You didn’t come to dinner.”

“Sorry. Haven’t had time to train, you know?”

He sits down on the floor, and Hunk hands him the plate. There’s a little spoon wrapped in a napkin.

“Our  _lives_ are training. We were in the lions for ten hours yesterday.”

Keith carefully unwraps the plate, and shrugs.

“Alright, well…” Hunk claps his shoulder. “Don’t hurt yourself. You’ll worry Shiro. And me. And everyone. Please eat my food.”

Keith gives a short laugh, “Alright.”

The doors slide shut with a hiss. Keith pokes at the food. It’s not anything he recognizes, but that’s unsurprising. Hunk keeps nicking weird ingredients from different planets. Keith trusts Hunk not to kill him, so he takes a bite out of an orange looking goo. It’s good. Goo-d. Ha.

The gym is big and empty, now that the training bot is gone. The sound of his fork against the plate echoes around the room, and it’s almost unsettling.

When he's nearly done, the doors swoosh open. Bare feet patter against the floor, and Keith knows who it is immediately.

“Yo yo, what’s up in Kokomo?”

Keith tips his head up and blinks once. “What?”

“You know, the Beach Boys?” Lance sings shortly,  _“Aruba, Jamaica, oh I want to take ya?”_

Keith chews with his mouth full, “Never heard of ‘em.”

“Uncultured,” Lance huffs, and takes a seat next to him. “Hunk said you were being all broody in here, so I came to bug you.”

“Thanks,” Keith tries to deadpan, but it sounds too fond. “What have you been doing?”

“I’ve been trying to help Pidge decode that…weird, rock thing.” Lance scrubs the back of his head. “I think there's something inside it, because it gets hot every time we touch it, but cools down when we back away.” Lance shows his hands, “It burned me a couple times.”

Keith nearly chokes, “Oh my god.”

There’s little red burn marks all over his palms.

“Yeah. Pidge thinks it could be a power source – but the damn thing is feisty.”

“Why have  _you_ been doing that?”

Lance looks offended, “What do you mean?”

“You usually stay ten feet away from Pidge’s lab.”

“Well, Hunk didn’t want anything to do with it.” Lance shrugs, and rubs at his arm. “I dunno’. I was trying to be helpful.”

“You’re helpful,” Keith blurts. Lance side-eyes him. Keith takes another spoonful of sludge, “Why didn’t Pidge give you gloves?”

“The first time was on accident. The second was uh, an experiment.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“It’s  _alive._ ”

“Whatever,” Keith swallows. “Don’t get hurt.”

Lance smiles. He wraps his arms around his legs, and rests his chin on his knees. Keith sets the spoon on top of the plate, and pushes it behind him.

“So what now?”

“Hm?”

“You said we’re on standby until Voltron can make a rational move.” Lance plays with a tiny hole in the knee of his jeans. “We’ve been chasing Lotor’s little strawberry scented  _Pantone_ trail for a month now.”

Keith sighs, and rubs at his eyes. “I don’t know, okay? I’m already working with Shiro and Kolvian to try some kind of preventive strike, but the alien alliances are on shaky ground, and the Blade of Marmora doesn’t like-“

“Hey,” Lance interrupts. “I didn’t say  _what tomorrow,_ I said  _what now?”_

It takes a moment. Keith doesn’t smile, but he lets out a breath of hot air, and mimics Lance’s position.

“Training. Then maybe a nap.”

“Okay. I could go without the training, but a nap sounds great.”

“You’re not going to gain any muscle mass that way,” Keith lies, because Lance already has.

"What if I don’t want it,” Lance sticks out his tongue. “I have a bean pole aesthetic to keep up, you know. I’m not blonde  _or_ rich, so I have to stay skinny, or else queen Lady Gaga is gonna’ be disappointed in me.”

“We’re at war, Lance,” Keith teases.

But Lance’s demeanor changes. He frowns, “Not right now.”

Keith swallows. He doesn’t understand what he said wrong – but he watches Lance fixate on that same pair of jeans that he’s been wearing since earth, and it kinda’ clicks. He forgets about training.

“Are you still homesick?”

“I’m….” Lance pauses. “Yeah.”

Keith can’t relate. There’s not much waiting for him back home – but he imagines Lance, with his big, loving family, and he can imagine missing that. Someone like Lance would have loved ones and friends, and people there who want him. Who miss him.

Keith tries to think before he talks. “Are you um….okay?”

Good one.

Lance gives a little huff and a smile, in a  _thanks for trying_ kind of way. “Yeah. It’s just hard, you know?”

“Not really?”

“Right.” Lance nods. “Sorry.”

“But you can tell me about it,” Keith says. His butt is starting to hurt against the solid floor, but it’s fine.

Lance shrugs, “It’s just. I’m  _the jokester,_ you know? The  _‘mood maker’._ It’s hard to be that all the time, when I just want to go home.”

Keith waits for him to continue – but Lance backpedals instead.

“And, and it’s not that I’m not happy, because I’m actually making a difference – and like, I fly a  _giant fucking cat,_ I just-“

“You’re allowed to be sad, Lance,” Keith says. Lance pauses, mid-sentence, and stares with surprise. His mouth opens, and closes, staring at Keith with this  _look._ It makes Keith feel warm, and the air seems to wind tighter, the room shrinking under his stare. Lance breaks the atmosphere with a short laugh, and uncurls himself, legs stretching outwards.

“I’m glad you’re my best friend.”

That’s probably what does it. Because a year ago, Keith would’ve  _never_ thought them to be anywhere near friends. It’s hard to imagine them coming this far. That now, Keith would trust Lance with his life – and he  _has,_ wielding Lance on his right arm, trusting him to watch his back. 

Keith’s body jerks, tripped like an electric wire. He’s crossing the short foot between them, reaching up to brace a hand against the side of Lance’s jaw, so he can pull his face close and kiss him.

Lance makes a surprised noise against his lips. He’s scrambling for balance, mouth opening in shock -  and Keith is sorta’ kinda’ seriously panicking because oh  _god_ he definitely wasn’t supposed to do that. His eyes snap open to see Lance’ blown wide in surprise, and Keith wonders if he ruined everything, in one short impulse.

Keith moves to pull away, face hot with embarrassment, but Lance digs his nails into his shoulder and yanks, smashing their lips together so hard their teeth click. Keith sharply inhales. Lance wholeheartedly throws himself into Keith’s lap, eyes shut, long arms slinging over Keith’s shoulders, and Keith has no other choice but to hold him at the waist, to keep them from falling over.

When Keith counterbalances their weight, his brain clicks back on – and they’re actually kissing, better this time, and wow, his lips are really soft.

Keith feels lighter, somehow. He can’t think of the Galra, or Voltron, or the Blade of Marmora or the state of the universe, because Lance is kissing him like he’s going to  _die,_ and Keith can feel every hair on end. Lance is a whirlwind, but Keith keeps up, determined not to lose. Lance has height on him, but Keith tightens his grip around his waist, and Lance makes this small little  _oh_ noise that blows Keith’s entire world apart.

Keith pulls back, hands holding Lance steady.

“Aren’t you going to stop me?” Keith asks, breathless.

Lance snorts, and rolls his eyes.

“As if.”

Hands curl up into his hair and yank with more confidence than Keith is expecting – and oh, they’re kissing again. Okay, okay, Keith is  _really_ on board with this. He digs his thumbs into Lance’s hipbones, and lets down that last wall.

A tongue laves past his lower lip, and Keith has never French kissed anyone, but he learns fast. An imaginary string ties to Lance’s teeth, because every time he grazes his lower lip, Keith’s stomach lurches, like it's being yanked on a leash. Lance is sloppy and overenthusiastic, but Keith is still coming to terms with  _how_ much he likes Lance – so, in all honesty, Keith doesn’t give a  _fuck_ how he kisses.  

Lance’s knees must be hurting. Keith tries to hold his weight a little better, but his fingers slip up his shirt on accident, and Lance curls into him on instinct, shivering in his hands. Keith is struck dumb, suddenly overwhelmed by how much power he has in his hands.

“I like you,” Lance says, against his lips, and oh, oh god.

“This is bad,” Keith manages, now greedy with all the skin he has access too, running his fingers up the nubs of his spine. “This is really bad.”

Lance laughs shortly, “Besides the obvious?"

“You’re absolutely my impulse control.”

“Your what?”

“You keep me from doing stupid shit,” Keith says, staring at the spot on Lance’s jaw that looks really, really enticing.

Lance snorts, and tugs on Keith’s hair again, “But this isn’t stupid.”

He kisses him again. Keith is okay with it.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://zanimez.tumblr.com/)


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